Page 49 of Drilled

"That’s completely unenforceable, Sandy. Chicago municipal code allows residential construction from 8:00 AM to 8:00 PM. A private HOA cannot overrule city zoning ordinances without a unanimous board vote and a thirty-day notice period,” she said, sounding exactly like a woman who knows what the hell she’s talking about when it came to the law.

But Sandy didn't care about the law. He looked past my shoulder, glaring right at her. "I am the president of this board, Lane! I don't need a thirty-day notice to deal with a nuisance unit. You think you're untouchable because you wear a cheap suit to court?" He stepped directly into her personal space, pointing a shaking finger in her face. "You’re a slob, your house is a circus, and your little worker boys are—"

That was his final mistake. My conditioning took over before my brain could even register the breach of protocol.

Without a word, my left hand shot out like a piston, my fingers locking hard around the collar of Sandy’s shirt and the meat of his neck. I drove the older man backward in one fluid motion, pinning him flat against the hallway wall. His heels left the linoleum floor, his breath catching in a pathetic, wet wheeze.

I leaned in close, my chest pressed against his. My voice came out as a low, terrifying vibration that rumbled right from my gut.

"You don't yell at her," I growled, tightening my grip just enough to show him I wasn't playing. "You don't come to this door again. We work until the city says we stop. Do you understand me?"

Sandy nodded frantically, his face quickly turning a mottled shade of purple. I held him there for one more agonizing second, letting the silence sweat him out, before I dropped him like a useless sack of mortar.

He stumbled backward toward his stairs, gasping for air and clutching his throat. He pointed a trembling, weak finger at me, scrambling to find his courage.

“I'll be reporting this misconduct to your company manager!” he hissed. “If fooling around out in the open with a client wasn't enough, the assault should certainly be enough to get you fired!”

I didn't care. I just watched him run up the stairs like the coward he was.

17

Lane

Come Saturday, the bathroom was starting to resemble an actual bathroom and not a scrapyard of construction material. Bear was busying himself with hanging and muddying heavy drywall around the newly installed shower stall and Dax was fishing wire through the walls for the new vanity sconce lights I’d ordered. Which meant that, for the time being, Sy was the only one free enough to go and get some supplies from the hardware store.

To my complete and utter surprise he invited me to join him. And to no surprise at all, I accepted. Why wouldn’t I? Sy and I hadn’t really spent any time alone together since that moment in my bedroom and after learning some more about him from Bear, I was curious to know even more. He was wearing his usual bright, charming smile but I could tell that he was distracted.

Neither of us mentioned it though, instead trading serious discussions for something lighter as we walked to O’Leary and Sons Hardware. The weather had been strangely generous recently, giving us enough of a break to make the journey there pleasant and not a fight for our lives.

A faded green awning hung over the streetwalk, casting a shadow across a cracked concrete entrance. The store itself occupied the ground floor of a 1920s brown-brick storefront, with large plate-glass windows on either side of a heavy timber door. There was also a handwritten cardboard sign that read “Yes, We Have Window Screens, Stop Asking”. I chuckled.

“So this is the famous O’Leary and Sons Hardware,” I said with a sense of recognition. I’d heard the name tossed around throughout the entire renovation project and it seemed like a staple for Cornerstone. “It’s different than I expected. I thought it would be some fancy major chain store.”

“Don’t let O’Leary hear that, he’ll kick you right out,” Sy said with a laugh, opening the door for me to enter first. Stepping inside was like getting into a time capsule. Narrow, overcrowded aisles were packed floor-to-ceiling with a variety of tools and supplies. The place smelled of sawdust, cut keys and oil and the floors were worn-down wood instead of polished concrete, with yellowed fluorescent lights that cast dim shadows around the room. In the corner was a single front cash register manned by an older, cheery-looking man, and from the friendly nod he shot Sy, it was clear that the crew had a history with the owners.

“We’ve been coming here for like a decade now,” he explained, his face beaming. “Since we graduated college, actually. O’Leary was friends with my grandad and Bear’s great uncle. Bear's surprisingly superstitious, so he thought it was a good omen or something. Providence. We’ve never taken our business anywhere else and believe it or not, they really do stock everything we need.”

It was so like Bear to create a work ritual out of loyalty. I may not have been a DIY girl myself, but I could appreciate the sentimentality behind it. It made me feel warm and fluttery inside, appreciative of the fact that I was being allowed in to see a small part of their shared history.

The older man shuffled out from behind the counter and moved toward us, his gait showing the years but still strong for someone that looked on the bleaker end of seventy. His creased eyes moved between me and Silas with a mischievous curiosity. “Silas! It’s good to see you again, boy. Who’s this young lady?”

“Hey, Doug.” Silas put a respectful hand on my back. “This is our newest client, Lane Whittaker. I brought her with me for a quick supply run.”

The old man’s eyes sparkled and he extended his hand towards me. I shook it, oddly nervous for someone who was used to meeting strangers day in and day out for a living.

“Good to meet you,” I said.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Miss Whittaker,” he replied charmingly. “Especially when it means making the acquaintance of such a beautiful woman.”

I giggled, genuinely flattered by Doug’s comment. He had a way about him that made the compliment feel sincere and not creepy, like some old dudes tended to come across.

“Okay, that’s enough now, old man,” said Silas, sounding like he was only half-joking. “She’s still a client of mine.”

“Not of mine, and I’m only acknowledging her beauty. No need to be jealous,” he said with a wink at me.

“I’m sure you must’ve been a problem back in your day,” I said with a smile.

Doug let out a low whistle. “You have no idea. I could still give the youngins a run for their money if you ask me.”